Careless: A Movie Star Accidental Marriage Romance (Santa Barbara Secrets Book 2)
Page 4
“And has someone been racing those ATVs up and down the public beach? Because you don’t own that, and it closes at sunset.”
“Come on, man. Give me a break,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” the cop replied. “It looks like you’ve been very reckless here. And I assume that whoever operated the vehicle was also drinking?”
“It’s just a four-wheeler,” I defended.
“All the same, it’s two in the morning and I think it’s time to send your friends home.”
I opened my mouth to argue when my cell phone rang. Who the hell was calling me this late?
The cop scowled as I diverted my attention, but I turned away, uncaring. I saw my agent’s name on the phone and accepted the call. Daryl had been my talent agent since my career took off in my teen years and I had learned a long time ago not to ignore his calls.
“Hey, man. What’s up?”
“What’s going on over there?” Daryl asked, in the middle of a yawn. “Bruce McKenzie just called me, woke me up in the middle of the night, to tell me that he’s fed up with the partying.”
“God, that guy’s driving me nuts. I just threw a bash here at the house.”
“It’s still going on?”
“No, the cops are here breaking it up.”
“The cops?” Daryl’s voice, which had sounded sleepy before, was almost instantly much more alert.
“Yeah, the jerks are making everyone leave.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Then keep your mouth shut. I mean it, Callen. You could cause some serious trouble for yourself.”
“Yes, mom.”
“Very funny. Shit like this is why I found you a handler,” he said.
“What’s a handler?”
“She’s like someone from our agency assigned to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Clearly you do.” Daryl’s tone of voice left no room for argument. “This is happening. I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
“And why is that?”
“Bruce made it clear that your job is on the line.”
“No way, they can’t fire me. I’m the most famous person on the show.”
“Well, they’re considering it anyway. So you will work with Lyssa for the next month to get your act together.”
“Fine,” I said, filled with irritation.
“That’s the spirit. Now go to bed.”
“Stop bossing me around,” I said and ended the call.
Sobriety finally starting catching up with me and it soured my mood. The cops had nearly cleared the place already, so I grabbed a bottle of vodka and walked down the beach toward the water. Settling into the sand at the water’s edge, I opened the liquor and took a long swig.
This handler idea was ridiculous, but I could play along for now. She had better not think she could change my ways. I had no interest in that whatsoever.
Six
Lyssa
“Tell me about what happened last night,” I said as I sped down a clear stretch of road that ran parallel to the ocean. I was on the phone once again, this time speaking to Daryl, my new boss.
“I don’t have all the details, but he threw some kind of wild party. The cops showed up to break it up”
“How wild are we talking?” I asked as the beachside mansion came into view. It was huge, with an A-frame roof, columns, and archways. White-colored stucco, with black wrought iron railings lining the steps leading to the entrance, it was flashy, over-the-top, and exactly what I had expected.
“Knowing Callen, things surely got out of hand. Expect a sea of beer bottles at the very least.”
There were, perhaps, half a dozen cars scattered around. A few people had stuck around after the party was over.
“I’m here. Is there anything else I need to know before I go inside?”
“Only that he is on thin ice right now. He thinks he’s invincible, but the producers are fed up with his shenanigans.”
“Got it. The short leash approach it is,” I replied.
Ending the call, I stepped out of my car and squared my shoulders. I wasn’t going to let things escalate this time. I had to whip this guy into shape.
I had done my research last night. Sitting on my couch with a big glass of iced tea and my laptop perched on the armrest, I had googled Callen Lord. The results had been…enlightening.
I could remember when Callen first came on the scene. I was fifteen and he was the new teenage heartthrob in a teen comedy movie. Girls fawned over him immediately. Even then, when his looks were more boyish, he’d had a certain draw, something about him that attracted the opposite sex. It went deeper than appearance, the guy exuded confidence.
Over the years, his appeal had only increased. He became a man that took on more serious roles and was an A-list celebrity by the time he was twenty years old. Needless to say, his good looks played a big part in that.
My internet search showed that he was more than just a gorgeous face, though. He was a party animal. I had lost count of the number of pictures and videos I had stumbled across of him drunk. The guy loved a good time.
But he was no jerk, at least that I could tell. He’d helped raise millions to rebuild his old high school in Oklahoma when it was hit by a tornado. And he appeared to have a thing for dogs, serving as a spokesperson the SPCA.
He was no Anjella. At least I found it extremely hard to even fathom that possibility. So I was sure I could handle it. I just had to suppress my own attraction to him. I was only human, after all.
Walking up the steps to his porch, I pulled the house key from my pocket. Daryl had sent it over to me first thing this morning. He insisted that I begin working on this problem today.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked by the state of the mansion, but it was overwhelmingly trashed. There were paper plates, beer bottles, solo cups, random articles of clothing, and unconscious people scattered everywhere. The living room was the size of my entire apartment., A ceramic lamp had been shattered, pieces of glass ground into the carpeting. At some point, there must have been curtains framing the window, but someone had pulled them halfway down, ripping one down the middle and leaving it dangling.
I walked around the room, shaking people awake, not bothering to be polite about it. I wasn’t here to make friends, and these drunken fools had only made my job harder by wrecking the house. There was grumbling and even a couple arguments, but within ten minutes, I had cleared the room.
Continuing on to the rest of the house, I saw more of the same. There wasn’t as much of a mess upstairs, and no one on the second floor to boot out. But there was also no sign of Callen.
I made my way to the back of the home, surprised to find that the kitchen was the cleanest room so far. Glancing around the space, I saw a business card from a catering company and a handwritten note that said, “Keep us in mind for your next event!”
That made sense. The caterer had cleaned the kitchen before leaving. At least I had that to be thankful for.
Stepping out into the backyard, I groaned. Callen clearly owned a private section of beach here. There were the smoldering remains of a bonfire on the sand and more trash scattered around it. A makeshift bar was in the middle of the sand, covered in half empty bottles of booze. My eye was drawn to an ATV parked at an odd angle in the sand, a crumpled tote trapped under one of the wheels and more beer bottles strewn around it, though these seemed unopened. That looked like the outcome of a dangerous situation.
I headed toward the vehicle when I caught sight of someone laying on the sand, very near the water. Hurrying toward the shirtless man, I recognized Callen right away. Kneeling at his side, I shook him none-too-gently.
“Callen, wake up. Callen!”
He didn’t respond and my stomached clenched with fear. I didn’t see his chest moving so I thrust my hand under his nose. I couldn’t feel him breathing against my skin. Shit.
What a way to start my new assignment.
“Come on,” I pleaded, looking around wildly for help. There was no one.
I was halfway through the compressions when he coughed suddenly, his whole body jerking violently. His eyes popped open and I got a glimpse of stunning light brown eyes before he flipped over onto his stomach, hacking up water.
“Are you okay?” I asked, leaning closer so I could get a good look at him. He looked like hell. The dark circles beneath his eyes accentuated his pale skin.
“What the hell happened? Who are you?” he asked.
“You passed out here by the water and must have inhaled some of it. I just saved your life.”
Callen groaned and sat up, rubbing his forehead roughly with his thumb and forefinger. Sand covered his body and he looked miserable. The sun hit his face and he squinted at me. Shading his eyes with his hand, he swept his gaze over my form. I felt the corresponding parts of my body tingle.
“Daryl sent me, I’m your new handler. How do you feel?”
“I’m much better now that you’re here, babe,” he said,.
Oh, my god. Was he hitting on me?
“My name’s not babe. It’s Lyssa.”
“A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
Disgusted with his behavior, I stood and held my hand out to him. He took it without question, using my counterbalance to pull himself to his feet. He stumbled a bit once he was upright, but a few deep breaths seemed to help him collect himself.
“Come on, let’s get you inside.”
I guided him back to the house, striding through the debris littered sand. Callen went straight to the kitchen and got a tall glass of water. I followed along, my arms crossed over my chest.
“What time is it, anyway?” he asked.
“Almost nine thirty,” I said, leaning my hip against the countertop.
“Damn, that’s early. I need some more sleep.”
“You need to get used to a regular schedule for work.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. He wasn’t making much eye contact as we spoke and his speech was sloppy.
“Where are your cleaning supplies?” I asked.
“Cleaning supplies? What are you talking about?” He proceeded to down half the glass of water in one huge gulp.
“You know, supplies for cleaning this place up, so it doesn’t look like a pigsty.”
“I don’t know if I have any.”
“How can you not have any? Or not know, for that matter?”
He shrugged. “I have a cleaning woman that comes in a couple times a week. She takes care of all that.”
“Great. When does she get here?”
“Friday.”
“But that’s not for three more days.”
All I got in response was another shrug. I walked off in a huff. The guy was clearly still drunk and no help at all. After poking around the first floor, I found a small closet off the kitchen with everything I needed.
Callen stumbled around, fumbling with a white bottle of headache medicine as he made his way into the living room. I sighed and headed back to the kitchen. Rummaging through the kitchen, I whipped up some pancake batter and had a plate of steaming pancakes ready within minutes. I walked into the living room to find him lying on the couch with his arm thrown across his face.
“Wake up,” I said, placing the plate on the coffee table.
“I’m awake,” he replied, “but there seems to be an invisible vise tightening around my head.”
“That’s what happens when you overdo it,” I remarked. “Now, eat.”
I saw Callen’s nostrils flare as he sniffed the air. Sitting up in one fluid motion, he stared at the plate of food as if he’d never seen anything like it before.
“Did you make this?”
“Yep. Now, eat. You need some food in your stomach for the hangover.”
I left him to it as I started pulling cleaning supplies from the closet. I started by walking around the living room, the most decimated part of the house, with a trash bag in my hand. Callen had finished his food and I had nearly filled the trash bag by the time I was done.
He resumed his position on the couch as I brought out the Dyson and started vacuuming. He groaned loudly at the noise and shot me a glare, but I just took a page out of his book and shrugged at him, fighting back a smirk.
Minutes later, he pulled himself up off the couch and stomped up the stairs. I watched him go. It was such a shame that someone with such potential was in the act of throwing it away with so much hard drinking.
I let him sleep while I cleaned, which took hours. When I was finally done with the inside of the house, I sent a few pictures to Daryl to show that things were under control, at the moment at least. He responded with a copy of Callen’s shooting schedule for the week.
It looked like he was scheduled to shoot a scene tomorrow at eight in the morning. That was an early morning, and I was sure he wouldn’t be happy. Still, I typed a positive response.
Great, we’ll both be there.
We’d be there bright and early, with no hangover. I would make sure of it.
Seven
Callen
The smell of food pulled me out of my heavy slumber. I rolled over and glanced at the clock. Five o’clock in the evening.
Wow. I had slept the entire day away.
I tried to remember how I even got into bed. The last thing I could clearly recall was the cops busting up the party. I had been drinking away my problems while the waves rolled in over my bare feet. Then… nothing.
I really needed to knock it off with this blackout drinking thing.
Groping around my nightstand, I found my phone. Scrolling through the pictures, I saw shots of the party as I remembered it, then a video I had taken as I sat by the water. I had been slurring heavily and finishing off the bottle of vodka as I ranted about the producers of The Brothers California and all buzzkills in general. The language was colorful, to say the least.
I opened Twitter and let out a relieved sigh when I saw that I hadn’t posted the video. At least I could avoid more preaching from Bruce.
Time for a shower.
Thirty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling much more human. The hangover headache was almost gone, and I felt well-rested. While in the shower, I had searched my memory but only hazy images had cropped up. Blonde hair and pancakes flashed through my mind like strobe lights. It didn’t make sense.
Walking out of my bedroom in a pair of sweats, I was prepared for a catastrophe. My parties always ended in a mess.
The place was spotless. I turned in circle. What the hell? There wasn’t even one stray solo cup to be seen as I walked down the stairs and into the living room. My curtains were gone, but other than that there was no evidence of a party.
Had I imagined it?
That couldn’t be a good sign.
The smell of spicy food drew me to the kitchen. I assumed that Brett was cooking something, though he’d never shown any culinary skill before. He was also pissed at me, right? I vaguely remembered being called an asshole.
The sight of a woman at the stove stopped me in my tracks.
Holy crap, she’s hot.
With a lean build and shoulder-length blonde hair, she practically floated around the room, clearly in her element. There was something familiar about her and I grasped for a memory that was just outside of my reach. Did we hook up?
I cleared my throat and she looked up. I was struck by her blue eyes, which seemed to almost shine. Naturally pink lips complemented her fair skin and the hint of dimples decorated her cheeks.
“You’ve certainly been asleep for a long time,” she said, grabbing a spoon and stirring something on the stove. A plate with spicy grilled shrimp skewers caught my eye and my mouth watered. I’d never had a woman in my kitchen that kne
w how to cook like this.
“Yeah, about that, how did I end up in my room?” I asked. Her eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and I decided it was best to just come out with it. “I can’t remember what happened, so if we slept together—”
“Whoa. Let me stop you right there,” she said. “We did not sleep together. You really don’t remember this morning?”
“Uh, no,” I admitted.
“Yikes. You have a real problem,” she said, and I braced myself for another lecture. “But that’s why I’m here. Daryl sent me.”
“Daryl sent you? Wait, you’re the junior agent? My handler?”
“Yep. Lyssa Turner.” She held her hand out to me, a look of professional politeness on her face.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I said, reaching for her hand. Instead of shaking it, I turned her hand over and lifted, planning to kiss the back of it. Before I could brush my lips against her skin, she ripped her hand out of my grasp, surprising me.
“I’m not here to be your girlfriend, Callen. So don’t even go there. I’m going to lay down some ground rules, which will be followed so we can improve your reputation with your coworkers and save your job.”
“They’d never fire me,” I insisted, taking a seat at the bar across the island from her.
“I don’t believe that. The pilot hasn’t even aired yet and you’re replaceable. But let’s say you’re right. They could always renegotiate your contract. Do you want your pay reduced?”
“I don’t understand why everyone is so upset about a few parties,” I said, refusing to admit that she might be right about the contract. The whole thing was an overreaction.
“I know you don’t, but trust me, it’s not an attractive quality. You might look sexy as hell, but the drunken behavior is a definite turn-off.”
“You think I’m sexy?” I asked, shooting her a smirk.
“Stop it. Rule number one is no flirting,” she said, giving me a stern look before turning back to the food. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I thought I had seen a light blush on her cheeks before she busied herself. I grinned.